Metal Detecting

I finally went over the ground where the old Railroad House used to be.  It serviced the line workers back when the trains were still in operation.  How it wound up in the hands of the local counterculture after sixty-nine I will never know.  I remember the pig roasts.

It is now a little caravanserai on the green way, with picnic tables and a receptacle for plastic bags and dog poo.  I was hoping for the twenty-dollar gold piece that I lost in a past life.  I found six cents by the picnic tables with the metal detector.  I found four cents just walking back to the rig.

The most interesting find was historical.  I found the die cast metal side for the magazine of an old cap gun.  The kind that looked like a revolver cylinder.

In the tattered thatch of forest debris from old poplar, willow trees, and choke cherry bushes the area has sprouted a few pet graves.  I am not sure it can be classified as a pet cemetery yet.  I only found two markers, but I imagine that there are at least of a couple of unmarked graves.  I do not think we are at risk of the pets coming back wrong.

About johnsmithiiimxiii

John Smith, IIMXIII is the avatar of an award winning poet, artist, etc. who still lives in the Palouse country of the Pacific NW. He has not received much notice with his prose . . . but as his avatar, I hope that he keeps plugging along.

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